Buried (DC Jack Warr #1) - Lynda La Plante Page 0,49
biggie. ‘And do you have the contact details for his dentist, please?’
A single tear rolled down Susan’s shocked face. The burnt body, whoever he was, wasn’t visually identifiable.
*
Back at the station, Jack and Laura were huddled round the same desk in a small, rarely used break room. There was an ancient, unplugged coffee machine in the corner, which was why Laura had requested an urn of hot water, sachets of tea and coffee, disposable cups and a selection of biscuits.
Mike’s extensive personnel file was scattered all over the table and Jack was randomly showering each sheet of paper with biscuit crumbs as he read. As Jack leant forward, reading intensely while devouring a chocolate Bourbon, Laura sat back sipping her tea. Their knees just about met underneath the narrow table, and all of Laura’s senses focused on the tiny area of skin at the tip of her knee that brushed against the tip of Jack’s.
‘Do you think he knew Norma?’ Jack asked, snapping Laura out of her trance.
‘I can’t see how he could have. Mike was Met, she was Thames Valley. Their paths could have crossed on a security detail in London maybe, ’cos her mounted division was brought down for large events.’ Laura set aside her teacup and leant forward across the table. If Jack looked up now, their noses would almost be touching. ‘But there’s no record of their teams being on the same detail for anything.’
‘He was liked and respected for the majority of his career. Never reported. Never disciplined. Until 1995, when he was hauled over the coals for not revealing a personal connection to a case he was working on.’
Jack explained, ‘The case was the retrieval of the stolen diamonds. Mike gave his boss, DCI Craigh, a tip-off that Dolly Rawlins knew where the diamonds were, and that she was going after them when she was released from prison. Turned out to be a load of crap, and the tip was nothing more than Mike’s hunch based on his hatred of Dolly Rawlins. He blamed her for the death of his sister, Shirley, and wanted to see her back inside. Mike retired at the beginning of the following year.’ Jack let his hands and the sheet of paper drop heavily into his lap. ‘We’re coming in late on what look like some very old scores being settled here, you know. Our 2019 arson and murder is linked to a 1995 train robbery and the murder of Dolly Rawlins, which is linked to a 1984 diamond robbery and the murder of Harry Rawlins. I just don’t know how.’
‘Well, I’ve got enough to show that Mike’s probably definitely dodgy.’
‘Probably, definitely? Ridley’ll love that.’ Jack laughed.
‘His phone records show that, in recent months, he’s been in contact with his mum, his ex-wife, a guy called Barry Cooper and . . . wait for it . . . a burner phone.’
Laura held her hand up, palm towards Jack and he high-fived her, ending with laced fingers.
‘Definitely dodgy.’
Jack stood up and headed off to make two celebratory cups of tea.
When Jack first arrived at the Met, Laura had thought he was moody and standoffish but once they became partners, she began to really like him. He was naturally tactile and, somewhere along the line, she’d become confused by that. She knew he was with Maggie, but she also knew that affairs happened all the time in stressful, potentially violent jobs. It was the uncontrollable adrenaline, the heart pounding, fight or flight situations, it was knowing that your life was in someone else’s hands. Jack turned to her.
‘Bourbon?’
Even mumbling through a half-eaten biscuit, Laura thought his mouth looked lovely.
Tea and biscuits were put on hold when Ridley called Jack’s mobile and instructed them both to go and search Mike’s place of work. There was a search warrant waiting for them to collect at the court building.
*
Withey Security was nothing more than a run-down Portakabin in the middle of a gated lot. Fourteen Portakabins occupied the space, overseen by an ancient warden who was keyholder to them all. The warden stepped into his own Portakabin to find the keys to Mike’s. This Portakabin was more like a caravan, complete with a small TV, a tatty armchair that looked as if it had been re-covered several times, a three-shelf bookcase, and a selection of yachting magazines to pander to the warden’s daydreams. A half-eaten packed lunch sat on top of a miniature fridge and there was a bowl of children’s sweets on a salvaged coffee table. The